


Mortal Kombat: Mind Over Matter

by colinclovt



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colinclovt/pseuds/colinclovt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years since the last tournament, the realms have faced relative peace. With Outworld silenced by the defeat of their Emperor Shao Kahn and the forces of the Netherrealm fleeing into their own depths, Earthrealm has found the time to recover from the war's destruction. This time has allowed cities to grow, the Special Forces to strengthen, and the mystery-cloaked clans of the Lin Kuei and Shirai Ryu to come together once more. The battle-worn fighters who saved the realm have finally begun to reflect on their own lives and identities.</p><p>But no peace can last forever, and something is stirring in the darknesses. As a lonely exile brushes the dust from an ancient plot, a new leader sets her sights on Earthrealm and beyond. The challengers to her throne are many and fierce, and armies have begun rallying in secret. With the Elder Gods withdrawn into a peacetime cloister, the realms have become a fuse heading towards chaos. And all the while, players of the latest game linger in the darkness, waiting to strike a match and let it all burn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Sektor

“On!” screeched her voice. “On, all of them – turn them on! Engage their weapons! Unleash them!”

Sektor obliged his leader’s demands, throwing switches and ripping plugs from walls. Cyborgs came to life in a flurry of beeps and small lights, their heads snapping to attention as soon as the power flowed through their suit. They were ripping bodies apart in instants. The screams did not bother the rust-coloured robot stalking through the chamber.

His queen followed closely behind him, her cackle urging him forward. Anyone she did not discard with a quick swipe of her blades, he incinerated. Soon they would have every Lin Kuei cyborg in their possession, and the two would be unstoppable. 

They reached the end of the long hall, where the two final cyborgs stood in silence, the dust that had accumulated on them over the years now shaken into the air from the commotion. The Empress slid around him and ran a hand down the blue metal, then turned her eyes towards the silver.

“Sektor,” Mileena began. “These will be your partners. The rest will come with me as my own personal guard, but you will have these two all to yourself.”

He stepped forward cautiously. He had faced defeat at their hands before. He had known these two before they had been forced into the Cyborg Initiative. Deadly and fierce, they had once proven a formidable pair of opponents. They could have killed him once. 

But now Sektor could melt them into scrap metal if he had to.

With a kick of his armoured foot, they were freed from the concrete wall behind them. Within seconds, their eyes lit up and their heads rose slowly. The temperature dropped within seconds as Sub-Zero stepped forward, and Smoke shook violently as he sprung into life. Neither attempted any attacks.

“Kill any humans you find,” Sektor commanded when they looked to him for instructions.

Smoke’s head tilted, but he nodded as he strode away from his pedestal and towards the fleeing Lin Kuei operatives. When he caught a man and poured his smoke into his body and allowed him to burn from the inside out, the Empress and her bodyguard knew that their reprogramming had been successful. She laughed giddily, twirling on one foot as she watched the man slump to the floor, eyes rolling backwards into his head and smoke trickling from his pores.

“Very good, Tomas,” she patted him on the shoulder. “Do it again.” She spun to face Sub-Zero. “Help him, Kuai.”

Smoke and Sub-Zero leapt into action instantaneously. There were screams of agony, pleas for mercy, and the sound of cracking bones as scientists attempted to stumble over one another on their way out – but not a drop of blood touched the floor. The cyborgs had their own ways of murdering, and they did it cleanly. Mileena and her partner stood silently as the other two coloured cyborgs eliminated the rest of the life from the hall, leaving the four of them standing amidst wall-to-wall carnage.

“Excellent.” Sektor would have smiled if he’d had the ability. “Empress, we will find the leader of this Initiative. And we will defeat them. They will not stand a chance.”

“I know you will,” Mileena agreed, placing a hand on the red cyborg’s back. “Bring me their head. I will take the others and go. I trust you, Sektor.”

She moved towards the door and, in a matter of seconds, disappeared from Sektor’s sight. His new partners stood patiently as they waited for his orders. The power was unusual to him.

“Come,” he said, adding force to his voice. He boosted himself into the air and hovered towards the door as he continued, “Sareena is on the premises. We must find her, retrieve information, and then kill her.”

Blue and Silver nodded in quick succession, and the three quickly made their way out of the holding cells and into the building’s main quarters. They killed any Lin Kuei operatives or cyborg developers they met along the way, but Sareena did not show her face as they left piles of dead in their wake. Sektor grew angry as he began to worry that she had slipped through their fingers. She would surely run and tell some greater power in the Lin Kuei, leaving the Empress’s plans exposed. He could not allow that to happen. He could not allow some demon bitch from the Netherrealm to lay waste to his queen’s schemes.

They had reached a central control chamber. Developers and research assistants stood cowered in a corner as Sektor unleashed flames into the room. Most who escaped his inferno fell victim to Sub-Zero’s frost, and the unlucky few who flew beneath even his radar found their insides charred before they’d reached the doorway. The cyborgs would leave none alive.

“Stop!” came the shout the three were searching for. “No further. You have me. Here I am.”

Sub-Zero barely heeded her cries, snapping a frozen woman in half as his comrades turned to face the newest arrival. Sareena’s long, black-and-white streaked hair fell to the middle of her back, and she wore the black armour with red trims that Sektor recalled from their last encounter. In one hand she gripped the hilt of a long sword with a toothed blade, its shine hidden by the oil coating it. She had killed cyborgs, and many of them if her blade’s current state proved anything. She had a look of fury and confusion on her face, one that only deepened when she saw her opponents. Sektor was pleased to know that she had not anticipated Sub-Zero’s and Smoke’s turning on her.

“What do you want?” She beckoned, crouching just slightly. “You have our top-performing subjects. What more do you need from the Lin Kuei?”

In a flash, Sektor had slipped into nothingness and reappeared in the doorway behind her, locking her in the room. He spoke carefully, “Where can I find the rest of your clan?”

“I will never betray them,” she spat back.

“You will die, then,” he responded. “Give me the new coding. The one that leaves their minds intact.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the look on her face revealed that she had anticipated this demand. “All of that information is in this room. It’s here, on the main computer in the central hub. Take it, and go. Leave the Lin Kuei alone.”

He shook his head. “Smoke, retrieve the information off of that computer. Be careful to encrypt all relevant files and lock them into your system.” He turned to Sub-Zero. “Immobilise her.”

The demon had no time to react before the Lin Kuei had cast a shell of ice around her, from feet to torso. She screamed as the ice stung her skin, but she could not move. Sektor stepped towards her, stopping inches from her face. “Sareena, listen to me,” he demanded, his voice dropping as low as it could.

She looked at him, a snarl curling her lips. She had yet to give up, but the sword had fallen from her grasp when Sub-Zero had frozen her in place and she had no means of retaliation. She listened carefully as he spoke. “I must learn of the Lin Kuei hideout. You will tell me where the Grandmaster and his fellows have cloistered themselves for centuries,” he said slowly. “If you do not, I will kill you. You may not think that so terrible when the alternative is the death of a clan to which you have sworn your loyalty, but hear this: I will find them regardless. There will be other ways of tracking them down. The Lin Kuei will not go undetected, and once I have them in my reach, I will show no mercy. You can die now, or you can live to fight again. Perhaps even warn them.”

Sareena neither spoke nor moved. She stared at Sektor, a look of revulsion in her eyes. Her fists had clenched, though, and he knew that she would fight back if given the chance.

Before anyone in the chamber spoke another word, a clatter of metal caught them off-guard as something new began to make its presence in the hub control centre known. With the sound of interlocking metal and a pulse of electricity, a yellow cyborg pieced itself together directly between Sektor and Sareena. Before anyone else could react, the latest combatant had produced a green net from an open cavity in his chest, ensnaring his red twin immediately.

“Stop him!” Sektor began shouting, panic lacing his voice. “Destroy him!”

“Pal, you have got to stop running with that Outworld crew,” the cyborg insisted, flying into action as he spoke. His hand-to-hand quick enough to keep up with attacks from both Sub-Zero and Smoke, he effortlessly sent the two hurtling towards the ground. With one elegant motion, he spun towards Sareena and released a small buzzsaw from his chest cavity, using the tool to carefully and quickly carve the demon out of her icy prison. 

But Sektor had released himself from the netting, and his vengeance was swift. He fuelled his jet boots, slamming into the newly freed Sareena. When she slowly brought herself to her feet once more, she had blood on both her legs and the back of her head from the fall. The determination in her eyes lingered.

“Cyrax,” the red cyborg shouted. “It has been too long.”

“My old friend and partner in crime,” Cyrax fired back, laughter in his tone. “You sure did take a nosedive.”

“I thought you were dead,” Sektor responded, shrugging. He chose not to reveal that he had hoped for the other man’s death.

“Not quite. Spare me the threat, though – I know you could remedy that.” Cyrax did not waste another second. With Sub-Zero and Smoke back on their feet, he had to go on the defensive quickly. They put all of their force into their attacks now, aiming to kill.

Sektor had his own battle, too – Sareena had gathered her blade and was dashing towards him, swinging as though she had suffered no injuries. She proved elusive, swiftly rolling beneath his manual attacks and forcing chinks into his cyber-suit with the toothed sword she clutched. When a punch or a kick caught her, she grunted but pressed onward, almost as though she had felt nothing. Sektor grew irritated quickly. 

When she rolled out from beneath a stomp, the cyborg used his other foot to kick her in the side. The pain startled her, and she leapt to her feet with her sword at the ready. Before she could swing, he sent a missile from his forearm gliding towards her. Acting rashly, she brought her blade down towards it. As the projectile exploded upon impact and the recoil sent Sareena stumbling backwards and the sword spinning towards the floor, Sektor fired another missile. This one exploded inches from her head, and the blast left her dazed just long enough for him to make his final move. He opened his own chest cavity and a small octagonal device sprung forward, locking into the demon’s torso.

It was not Sareena who made the next move. Cyrax, sensing the next step in Sektor’s attack, stretched out his hands and grabbed the cords dangling from Sub-Zero’s and Smoke’s heads. He yanked hard and left them sprawled on the floor, then slammed a foot into each cyborg’s abdomen and sprung forward from them to tackle Sektor.

When he had pinned the Cyborg leader in place, he shouted furiously, “Release her! You will not kill her this way. She is only – “

“Following orders,” Sektor muttered. “I understand. She is behaving admirably, and loyally.”

“More than I can say for you, traitor,” Cyrax accused.

“The Lin Kuei are not my masters. They have not been for years,” he quipped. “I obey the orders given to me by the Empress.”

“The Empress?” The yellow cyborg was audibly confused. It was unlikely that Mileena had entered his mind even once since the last Mortal Kombat tournament.

“Tell me the location of the Lin Kuei headquarters, and I will not rip Sareena’s limbs out of her torso,” Sektor demanded, his confidence growing.

“Don’t do it,” the demon cried. “Let him kill us. He can never know – “

Cyrax silenced her by opening a panel on his forearm. He brought forth a cable, then opened a matching panel on Sektor’s cyber-suit and connected himself to a cable he found there. Within seconds, Sektor had the information he needed.

He threw the yellow cyborg off of him with one quick thrust, then powered his suit to propel him upright, where he hovered above his one-time partner. “You have not escaped death, I fear. Neither of you have.”

With the touch of a button, the device on Sareena’s stomach activated. She had no chance to scream as the machine separated into multiple parts, her legs, arms, and head ripped from her torso and left to dangle in the still, cold air. Blood and nerves and bits of bone scrambled towards the tiles beneath her, a sloppy sloshing noise filling the room. When the device firmly planted itself into the floor, Sareena’s remains became nothing more than a blood-soaked scarecrow. Cyrax stilled, his horror apparent even through the yellow metal.

“Sub-Zero,” Sektor shouted. “Bring me Cyrax’s head.”

The cyborg offered no resistance. When Sub-Zero froze him completely, he only stared at the robot laying waste to the Office of the Lin Kuei Cyborg Initiative. If Sektor had anything resembling a soul, it did not recoil when Sub-Zero handed him a yellow helmet with blood and oil pouring out from it. Sektor simply tossed it against a wall with a clash.

As the three cyborgs left the building, the Empress’s Ambassador wondered how long they had before word reached the rest of Earthrealm. Soon all would know of Mileena and her cyber-assassin. Soon all would fear him.


	2. Kurtis Stryker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deacon City Police Department discovers a disturbing message, and the new Commissioner interprets its meaning with bitter understanding.

There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for a day like today. The bloodstains on Kurtis’s shirt weren’t gonna go away anytime soon, and Kabal’s fury was unrelenting. Meanwhile, the rest of the force stood in chaos, panic racing through the ranks. This was the second murder this week. Commissioner Martin’s skin had been peeled from his face, but his uniform had been left unscratched. The death would’ve been quick – a gaping puncture wound on either side of his throat – but that made it no less devastating to see.  
  
The sound of shattered ceramic snapped Kurtis out of his brief reverie. He turned to see Kabal standing over a broken mug, his face red and his eyes watery. A trickle of blood slowly crept out of his palm, and Kurtis knew that he had crushed the mug with his hand. _The things we do to hide our pain._  
  
“Assistant Commissioner,” spoke a voice behind him. He turned to see Cadet Briggs staring at him, her face rigid and blank. The young officer had proven herself time and again, and Kurtis thought that it was about time for her to see a promotion. _Now isn’t the time, though. If she manages this as well as I expect..._ She gripped her phone in her right hand, its screen still brightly lit. “I called Chief Detective Blade.”  
  
Blade. She has thought ahead. “Is she intending to report?”  
  
“She didn’t answer. Deputy Chief Briggs answered. Blade has been out of the office for three weeks.”  
  
The Special Forces division was a mysterious and difficult one, and the news did not surprise him. Nor did the Cadet’s clinical reference to her own father. “Can Briggs report to the scene? Takahashi?”  
  
“You believe this really requires – “  
  
His voice dropped to a whisper. “Faces are being peeled off. This makes it twice in one week. It could be any old inmate who’s had a psychotic break, but I want to be sure. Going after police is bold. We need it to stop.”  
  
She nodded. “I agree. I will ask the Deputy Chief to send someone.” She paused for a moment before she began dialling. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. This isn’t your typical insanity. I think we’re being sent a message.” She walked away silently, raising her phone to her ear before she disappeared from the room.  
  
Kurtis sighed. “Okay, everyone,” he bellowed. “We need to start clearing the scene. Take photos. Set up parameters. We need officers back to their own stations. Deacon City isn’t on hold because of one murder here.” There were nods and muffled agreements throughout the room as people began shuffling out and back to their own responsibilities. “Kabal. A word?”  
  
The man looked slowly up towards Kurtis, and his nod was nearly imperceptible. The two moved silently into the Assistant Commissioner’s office, where they closed the door and drew the blinds.  
  
“You should take the week,” Kurtis spoke carefully. “Martin was your uncle. You deserve the break.”  
  
Kabal spoke in the angriest, most spiteful version of his drawl. “Don’t condescend to me, Kurtis. When your father died, did you take even a day? No. You tracked down his killer.” His eyes were fierce, accusatory.  
  
“And I never should have done that.”  
  
“You don’t get to – “  
  
“I do,” Kurtis held up a hand. “With Martin dead, I fill in as Commissioner, Kabal, you know that. I’m your friend, but – “  
  
“So let me find the person who did this,” the man nearly shouted. “This is my uncle. Do you see what they did to him? His skin is gone, Kurtis.”  
  
The Assistant Commissioner sighed, placing a hand over his eyes. He had expected this battle, but he knew it was one he needed to fight. Kabal would be too volatile to have on this case. “I know. It’s really fucked up, and I realise you want to do something. But – please – you have to understand why I need you to go home. You won’t be thinking rationally, you’ll be acting out of anger – “  
  
“Goddamn right, I will!” He did shout this time. “That’s how I know I’ll be able to find him!”  
  
“It’s going to make you do something stupid,” Kurtis insisted. “I’m telling you this as a friend. Please. Don’t take a full week. Just a couple of days. Come back on Thursday.”  
  
The men stared at one another across a wooden desk. When Kabal shrugged just slightly, Kurtis knew that he had won. “Fine. But I’m coming back then, and I want to find the person who did this. They’re going to pay. I’ll see you on Thursday, Stryker.” He turned to leave the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.  
  
The Assistant Commissioner sank into his chair and massaged his temple. His head was pounding. He could hear chatter and clicks outside his door, which meant that the scene was being secured. They would need him out there soon. _You’re the Commissioner now, Kurtis. You have no choice. You must get involved in this._  
  
But it all felt so wrong. Martin had died so suddenly. There’d been no build-up, no warning, no reason. _I think we’re being sent a message._ Briggs had likely guessed correctly, and that worried Kurtis. _But why us, and not the Special Forces? Unless it’s about a crucial inmate..._  
  
He thought back to all of the major crime lords they’d taken down. They had recently begun something of a streak, and the DCPD would have made plenty of enemies within the past year alone. The options were countless, and none of them were particularly pleasant.  
  
_Kano. Of course. It’s the Black Dragon._ It had to be. When he had taken down Kano following the death of his father, Kurtis had anticipated retaliation from the organisation. His surprise had grown each day when he received no threats and Kano continued to rot in a prison cell awaiting trial. It had slowly warped into dread, and now that the realisation that this must be Kano’s variety of revenge was dawning on him, he felt strangely comforted. _At least I no longer need to wait on that one._  
  
There was a quick and sudden rapping on his door. Before he had a chance to speak, it was opening and Detective Kenshi Takahashi of the Special Forces Division was entering. His usual blindfold was wrapped across his eyes, a sleek walking stick in one hand and a briefcase in the other. His suit was pitch black and fitted, its subtle accents red, and his boots were shockingly shiny. The overall effect was very impressive.  
  
“Kurtis Stryker,” he spoke urgently. “Tell me everything you know.” The door closed behind him, and Kurtis wasn’t sure he had seen the detective push it closed.  
  
“Nice to see you, too, Detective Takahashi,” Kurtis greeted him, waving his hand at the chair opposite him. When they were both seated, he began speaking again. “Martin is the second member of this police department to be killed this week. They both had their faces peeled off. Both had those massive puncture wounds on their neck.” The blind man nodded quickly, but did not speak. He wanted more. “I believe it is Kano and the Black Dragon.”  
  
“You apprehended Kano nearly a year ago,” Kenshi responded without any apparent implication.  
  
“I did,” Kurtis nodded. “And for a year, we have heard nothing at all from the Black Dragon. I believe they are finally exacting revenge.”  
  
“Removing the entirety of a victim’s facial skin is brutal even for the Black Dragon,” Kenshi shrugged. “But I can’t say that I’d put it past them.”  
  
“We have their leader,” the Assistant Commissioner answered firmly. “That calls for a more dramatic response.”  
  
“It is their leader who would historically have the capacity and cruelty required for such brutality,” the detective pointed out. _He is not wrong. Kano’s skill with knives would be necessary to such an action, unless he had a protégée in the clan._  
  
“It will have been a year ago in just under two weeks,” Kurtis looked down. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed this earlier. That would mean –  
  
“They will take you last, and break Kano out,” Kenshi connected the dots. “In just under two weeks.”  
  
The room was silent for a moment as the two thought this over. _I’m not sure I’m ready to have my face peeled off by some Kano devotee._ He wondered which it would be. _Probably Kira. Fucking Kira. She had always eluded escape._  
  
“We should pay a visit to Kano this week, then,” Kenshi said at last. “Interrogate him.”  
  
Kurtis nodded. “I agree. Will you be the detective assigned to this case?”  
  
“Yes. Chief Detective Blade will be out of the office until further notice, and Deputy Briggs is dealing with the kidnappings.”  
  
Kurtis shivered. _I’d almost forgotten about those, ever since the Special Forces took over. How could I let myself forget? So many kids gone..._ He almost let the fact that Blade would be out of the office for an extended amount of time slip past him, but then he caught it. _That is not typical. This is her sort of beast to tackle, and it involves Kano..._  
  
“I will come tomorrow morning, at nine. We can go to the prison together and speak with Kano then. Does this work?”  
  
Kurtis had no choice, so he nodded. “Thank you for your time, Detective Takahashi.”  
  
“Please, call me Kenshi,” he smiled. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me now.”  
  
“Of course. Kenshi.” The two shook hands, and the blind detective left the room without another word.  
  
Kurtis left the door open for a moment to watch the work on the crime scene. The forensics team was working full-tilt, looking for anything that might give them a tip. DCPD’s core body of officers had cleared the room for them, but they had replaced it with even more people.  
  
With a loud sigh that nobody noticed, Acting Police Commissioner Kurtis Stryker stepped into the room to begin answering questions about the investigation, quieting the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that he might have less than two weeks left to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are fictional characters allowed to gain greater leadership positions by choice? I think it's required that they be forced into it by unfortunate circumstances (i.e., grisly murder).
> 
> Anyway, Stryker has quite the mystery ahead of him, and potentially very little time to put an end to this mess. Let's hope Kenshi proves helpful and not cryptic and reserved. Too bad they've never played a Mortal Kombat game.
> 
> Comments and thoughts are always welcome!


	3. Takeda Takahashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest member of the Shirai Ryu clan has quite the Thursday night, but it's the morning after that really gets to him.

“KEDA! KEDA! KEDA!” the shouts poured through the open window and into the loud living room, where Takeda Takahashi was busy downing his sixth shot that night. With a grimace as he swallowed the final drop, he turned and followed the voices to the massive keg standing on the porch. It was pretty obvious what he had to do next.

“Come on, Keda. You can’t wimp out on us.” Cassie urged him on, her voice full of gin and her hair a sweaty mess. It was a hot night.

“I would never, Cass,” he slurred. With the cheers to encourage him, he gripped either side of the keg and lifted his legs above him. Before he knew it, he was downing shitty beer as everyone shouted his name and Cassie held the tap in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long he lasted, but he was sure it was longer than anyone else had tonight.

And then he was sufficiently wasted. The buzz was circling his head, around and around, keeping his thoughts moving quickly. _Just what I need. Yes._

“You doing okay?” Cassie asked quietly as he stared over the railing.

“I’m great, never better, want another shot?”

“No, and neither do you,” she laughed. “It’s a fucking Thursday. You’ve got _training_ tomorrow.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He gave her a light-hearted push.

“Yeah, I’m sure all the drunk students are listening to our conversation right now,” she dismissed. “Except Mags. She might be,” she added with a smirk.

“God, don’t remind me,” Takeda shook his head. “That was a fucking mistake.”

“A costly one. I don’t think she’s gonna stop trying,” she shrugged. “Your fault. You knew she was into you, and you still slept with her. You have to be upfront with her at some point, and you deserve all of that weirdness.”

“Yeah, thanks, I realise that, but I was also fucking drunk,” he argued.

She laughed, looking down at their feet. “I think that’s the problem, Keda.”

“Whatever.” He started to walk away.

“Oh, come on, don’t run away just because things got a little bit serious,” she gripped his forearm. “This is supposed to be a fun night.”

“Sorry, forgive me for not wanting to be lectured about my drinking habits while I’m approaching blackout.”

She threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. Just trying to help, but I’ll stop.”

_For tonight. I’ll hear it all again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day... If not from you..._

He could see Hanzo’s disappointed face when he showed up hungover to training tomorrow. He could see the clan’s irritation as he struggled to move quickly. He could see the blood he spat onto the floor after a harsh defeat. _Fuck them._

Takeda turned to stalk into the kitchen after another drink, but was stopped by a friend – sort of.

“Katsuo,” he winced, the annoyance anything but subtle. “What do you want?”

“A shot. With you,” he grinned and held up two double-shot glasses.

“What?” _No, thanks._

“Tequila. Yes?”

“No. No, I’ll pass.”

Takeda shoved past him and into the house, which was now darker and more crowded than before. He looked around for a more friendly face, but didn’t see many he recognised, and saw even fewer that he wanted to approach. So he just grabbed a cup and returned to the keg.

“Hey, Keda,” a friend said softly as he pumped his drink. Diane’s face was just red enough to show that she was a little drunk, but she was otherwise composed. Her long, dark hair was in perfect place, her dress far from dishevelled and free of any spills, her makeup untouched by the revelry around her. “Looks like you’re having a great time.”

He chuckled as he raised the cup to his mouth. “I’m trying to, anyway.”

She smiled. “Listen...”

“Please don’t.”

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me to lay off the drinks. I’m going to be fine.”

“I – “ She seemed startled, but then she just sighed. “I wasn’t going to. I understand what you’re doing, Takeda.” She paused to drink from the cup she had in her own hand. “I was just gonna see if you wanted to ditch this party and grab a bite with me. But I’ll see you around, Keda.” She walked away with a sweet smile.

_Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

He chugged the beer. Then Cassie found him again. “Hanging out alone tonight? Not like you.”

“Whatever.”

“What’s wrong?”

He thought about that for a second. _My fucking mother is fucking dead. That’s what’s wrong._ “I was a total asswipe to Diane just now. That’s all. I’m a fucking jerk sometimes.”

“Whoa, whoa. What happened?”

“Nothing. She just came to ask me to get food, and I guess I bit her head off and – “

“Because she was hungry? What?”

“No, because I guess I thought she was gonna get on my case about being so drunk, so – “

“Keda – “

“Save it, please,” he held a hand up. “I’m just not in a good mood tonight.”

“I can see that.” Cassie’s mouth twisted ever so slightly, just enough to show that she was fighting her urge to say something. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine. But I’m here if you change your mind. Okay?”

He nodded. _Thank you._ “I mostly just want to get really fucking wasted.”

“Let me help,” she grinned, and shoved a bottle of whiskey into his face.

He took a long pull from the bottle. When he finished, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, his head spinning a bit too quickly. Then he shook it off and smiled at her. “Thanks for that.”

“Of course,” she laughed. “Let’s go find Jake and Shin. They had absinthe earlier – “

“Keda!” Katsuo’s voice was just behind him once again. Takeda turned with a look of irritation on his face. “Those tequila shots won’t take themselves.” His black hair was a mop on top of his head, and his dark eyes looked almost pupil-less. _Take off that stupidass trenchcoat so it won’t drag on the fucking wet ground. Jesus._

“Yeah, I still think I’ll pass, Katsuo,” Takeda replied with some force.

“Aw, come on, there’s no fun in that,” he insisted, brandishing his bottle of tequila.

 “Yeah, since when do we have fun together?”

“Since now, clearly,” Katsuo was laughing.

Anger boiled just beneath Takeda’s surface, but he kept his face still. “I don’t think so. Go find someone else to drink your tequila with you, okay?” He calmly walked away, with Cassie trailing quickly behind him. The two turned the corner of the house and found a seat beneath a huge tree, where they cracked open the whiskey once more.

“I could be ready to go home,” Takeda said after a long moment.

“We can leave.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “Home-home.”

“To Lampang?”

He nodded. “It’s been a long time.”

He could feel Cassie staring at him, her eyes full of scrutiny and doubt. “I’m not sure.”

“Neither am I,” he sighed. “I just – I don’t know.”

She placed a hand on his knee. “That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

Takeda felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he shoved them back and calmed his face once more. _I’m getting decent at that. Hanzo would be proud. So would my mother..._

“Hey, man, what are you doing out here?” The voice was Shin’s. She stood over him and Cassie, her face as red as a beet and her eyes a little glossy. Otherwise, though, she looked surprisingly put-together. “Mind if I have a seat?”

“Not at all! Please!” Cassie’s voice had changed dramatically, from quiet and serious to loud and inviting. She handed the bottle of whiskey to Shin, who took a pull without pause.

“Katsuo’s being extra weird tonight, you know,” Shin commented. “He’s been looking for you all evening.”

“Yeah, we’re hiding out from him over here,” Takeda responded. “He’s fucking lost it if he thinks we’re friends.”

“What’s he want?”

“To take a tequila shot with Keda,” Cassie giggled. “If he weren’t incapable of human emotion, I’d say he’s trying to make amends for your history.”

“That’s a big ‘if’ there, Cass,” Shin laughed. “That’s... Strange, though.”

“He’s strange,” Takeda brushed the thoughts off. “Let’s talk about something altogether better than him. Who’s Jack sleeping with tonight?”

“He and Diane were looking pretty friendly,” Shin shrugged. _Well, fuck. I’m sorry._

Takeda didn’t let his face betray him. “My money’s on Riku.”

“Good call, it’s been a while since it’s been a guy,” Cassie agreed.

“Riku isn’t even here, is he?”

“Eh, he will be. It’s only midnight,” Takeda waved his hand.

The group nodded their drunken assent.

“What about you, Keda?” Shin nudged.

“I’m gonna skip the hookup tonight.”

“Oh, come on, you deserve the happy ending!”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s in the cards this time,” he laughed. “I’ll live. I promise.”

“Man, Takeda Takahashi not looking to get laid? Bizarre turn of events.”

“What’s bizarre?”

They looked up to find Katsuo standing over them this time, his expression looking a bit frantic. _Jesus Christ. What is this guy’s problem?_

“Nothing, nothing,” Cassie responded quickly. The three were visibly uncomfortable.

“All right then,” Katsuo seemed quick to move on from that conversation. “So Keda. That shot. Come on.”

Takeda stared at him, analysing his face for any sign of motivation. He found nothing but insistence and a smile. _This still seems odd to me._ “Fine. Let’s do it.”

He stood and took the shot glass from Katsuo, who produced a bottle of tequila from his coat and poured.

“No salt?” Shin sounded offended.

“Seemed excessive,” Katsuo shrugged. He placed the bottle back into a pocket in his coat, then looked to Takeda. The two made eye contact. “Happy birthday, Takahashi.”

Their glasses made a quiet _chink_ as they came together, and then they were downing the liquor. They both finished with a gasp, and Takeda looked back at Katsuo. “Thanks for the shot. I appreciate that.”

“You’re the birthday boy,” he smiled. “You deserve it. Enjoy your night, Keda.” He patted Takeda on the shoulder and walked back towards the house, leaving the trio sitting in silence beneath the tree.

“What the fuck,” Cassie burst into laughter as soon as he was out of earshot. Shin immediately followed.

“Well, at least he wished me a happy birthday,” Takeda commented. “I think he was the first one, actually.”

“Jesus, happy fucking birthday, then,” Shin said. “Let’s drink to you to wash that birthday shot down, and then I’m going to find someone to fuck, I think.”

And drink they did. And that was the last thing Takeda remembered.

\----------

It was 16:07 when Takeda woke the next day.

_16:07_. He had been expected at the Temple seven hours earlier. _Fuck._

He launched himself out of bed, gathering his belongings and finding his uniform hanging in his wardrobe. _Why am I naked again? There’s no one else here. Was someone else here?_

He almost missed the open window. _Almost._ _Someone else was here. Someone went in – or out – of my window._

He didn’t have time to think about it. He was throwing pants on, tossing his clan’s training attire into a bag, and running a comb through his hair. And then he was out of the door, making for his bike.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and strapped it across his chest, and off he went. The bike revved loudly, its grumble angry and determined.

_Hanzo is going to be so angry. I might not be allowed to come back._

His bike traversed the hills and curves of the mountain road with ease, gliding around corners and cars and never slowing down. He paid no attention to his speedometer or the speed limit, mainly just trying to keep his attention on the road despite all of the guilt biting at him. But the traffic was thinning out the higher he went, and soon he passed his last car on his way to the Temple. He was alone on the road to what should have become his home long ago, and he felt every bit of it.

When he reached the turn-off onto the dirt road that would take him to the Temple, he came to a screeching halt. The dirt was stained red as far as he could see. _Blood. No._ His stomach dropped. Something terrible had happened, and he had not been here to help prevent it. _No, no, no._ He revved his bike again and took off down the dirt road, following the trail of blood through the winding forest path.

Then he rounded one last curve, and the Shirai Ryu Temple sprawled out before him. On the edge of a high cliff at the top of the mountain, the Temple was precariously perched and impressively built. Columns held the roof up on all sides, and flags brandishing the Shirai Ryu emblem hung from every possible site. The lanterns were strung across everything but the outdoor fighting ring, pillars holding candles stood all about the courtyard, and the massive bronze gong faced him from across the sandy pit. This was to be his home someday, and that thought filled Takeda with awe.

But then he took in the rest of the Temple. The blood stained the fighting pit. It stood in puddles on the cobbled stones of the courtyard. It stained some of the banners. _It’s everywhere. This has been a massacre._

He leapt from his bike, reaching into his bag to draw his whip. It was the weaker one, the one that he was allowed to take home rather than keep locked away in the armoury, but it was something. He moved slowly towards the doors of the Temple, his heart racing. _I am not prepared for a real fight, not against a real enemy._

_And certainly not against a cryomancer._ For he had seen the entrance now, and the handles were covered in a thin layer of ice. There were tears in his eyes for the second time in 24 hours. He knew what this meant. _The Lin Kuei. They were here._

_But – no – why would they attack us? Our rivalry has long been dormant, and we’ve done nothing to provoke them._ Takeda tried not to linger on the voice in the back of his mind that warned him that he was not privy to all of the secrets of his own clan. _One of our own could have attacked them at any time, and I would never suspect it. Not with the way I come and go..._

He produced a knife and began chipping at the ice, his movements becoming so furious that he shattered it in mere moments. The doors opened with a creak, and Takeda gasped in horror.

The interior of the Temple was completely covered in ice. From floor to ceiling, the Lin Kuei had covered it all. He felt terror rising up in him. _Hanzo would not let this happen, unless he were –_

He would not think it. He tread carefully as he made his way towards the inner sanctuary of the Temple, where he hoped he would find nothing as terrible as he imagined.

He was not so lucky.

The bodies of over a dozen Shirai Ryu warriors were strung from the ceiling of the sanctuary, half of them ripped in half and the other half missing limbs or heads. Takeda stared with stony determination, his grip on his whip tighter than ever. _I have failed them. I should have been here._

It was then that he realised Hanzo was nowhere to be found. His instructor, the clan’s Grand Master, was not among the dead. He may have survived. Relief washed over Takeda, despite everything before him. He knew he could find him. _I have to._

There was a crash behind him. Takeda spun on his heels, and the next second he was sprawled out on his back. _Fuck. I forgot the ice._

The sound of footsteps retreating, and then silence once more. _Someone is still here._ He brought himself to a seated position and looked around, a hand on the back of his head. He thought he felt blood.

The room was as empty of life as it had been before. The only people here were dead. He wanted to call Cassie, or Shin, or Jack. Anyone. He didn’t want to be here alone.

_I am afraid. I’m sorry, Hanzo._

He gripped his whip and brought himself to his feet. He gulped as he looked around the room once more, knowing that he would find nothing here for him aside from his whips and armour. And so Takeda made his way to the armoury to find his weapons, the first stop on his long journey to track down Hanzo Hazashi and the base of the Lin Kuei clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where in the world is Hanzo Hazashi?
> 
> More importantly, I'm an idiot and totally didn't realise that italics weren't showing up prior to this chapter. I'm going back to edit those in, because the italics are important to my narrative -- they are the thoughts of the chapter's focal character.
> 
> Anyway, as always, I would love any thoughts in the comments. Thanks to all who've read this!


	4. Cassie Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassie Cage hangs out with a couple of powerful buddies, but doesn't learn too much about the massacre in the Shirai Ryu temple.

“You have to **do** something!” she screamed, her finger shoved madly into the old man’s face. “ **You** are responsible for this – for all of it! Nobody else is to blame!”

“Cassandra, please,” he spoke evenly, robotically. His monotone infuriated her even further. “I could not have known – “      

“Of course not.” Cassie pushed her hair out of her eyes, turning away from Raiden. “I just don’t understand. The Lin Kuei have been nothing but friendly with the Shirai Ryu for years. Two decades,” she sputtered. “And now they’re – killing Takeda and laying waste to the temple? This doesn’t make any fucking sense, Elder God #1.”

“I am sorry I cannot explain it all, but I do not have the answers you seek,” he said. He stared beneath him now, looking out over the foggy valley. The sky was dark with clouds and an impending storm, but the air remained still. They could not see the village beneath their cliff, and the temples on other outcrops were rendered ghostly and dreamlike in the swirling mists. “I sense something terrible coming for Earthrealm, though.”

“Well, no shit,” she sighed, running a hand through her short hair. She looked at the clouds, too, but saw only white noise. “Look, godman, I get that you can’t know everything. But it’s your job to protect us. And that starts with the Shirai Ryu. We fucking need them, you know that.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, but neither of them bothered to look for the direction. Cassie wanted to go back inside and drink tea and pretend none of this was happening. _Takeda... Takeda, I’m so sorry._

_You can’t blame yourself, Cassie. You couldn’t have known, and you aren’t even allowed in their temple. You had nothing you could do. Nothing..._

“Fox,” Raiden’s voice rose. “Find Forest Fox. He would not have gone far following his banishment from the temple, and he will know more about the relationship between the Lin Kuei and the Shirai Ryu over the past decades.”

“Forest Fox,” Cassie shook her head, “is possessed by a demon and attempted to slaughter his entire clan.”

“He did not succeed, and he has maintained control well over the past few months.”

“How could you know that? He’s been completely MIA!”

“That’s bow I know. His demon would not allow him to sit quietly in the woods if it were in control.”

“I guess that’s not a bad point,” Cassie consented. “Okay. Not that I know where to start, but okay. If that’s the best plan we’ve got, I guess – “

The wind kicked up. The clouds around them whipped rapidly in all directions, and lightning flashed above and beneath them. Cassie and Raiden shifted their gaze upward to see a funnel forming in the sky, twisting and pulling the clouds inwards. The former sighed. _Elder gods and their fucking dramatics._

As the funnel touched ground, Fujin stepped from within the eye. His eyes were pure white, his hair shockingly neat in its tight braid that fell to the small of his back. He wore his formal garb, a grey-and-white tunic with a grey cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Both hands clutched his massive staff, but he had a sword buckled to his hip. _Well, he’s ready for some serious business._

“Raiden, Cassie. Good to see you both,” Fujin greeted them, and Cassie was glad for his multi-tonal voice and casual style. It would be nice to stop talking exclusively to a computer. “This is quite the mystery, huh?” He swept his staff in the direction that would contain the Shirai Ryu temple. “The Lin Kuei didn’t do this. At least not the Lin Kuei we know.”

“Fujin,” Raiden approached him. “What do you mean?”

“When was the last time you spoke with Kuai Liang?”

“Sub-Zero? Oh, Christ,” Cassie muttered.

“I admit it has been... Some time,” Raiden bowed his head.

Fujin looked his fellow Elder God over before speaking. “Yes, I realise. As it happens, I’ve just come from the Lin Kuei temple. Kuai is as concerned as we are.”

There was a lengthy pause, and Cassie found herself staring at Fujin. She opened her mouth to speak, but beat her to it.

“And you’re sure you trust him?”

“We’ve all had our differences with Kuai Liang,” Fujin responded quickly. “But he is honourable and proud. He has no reason to lie to me, and no reason to attack the clan to which he has sworn peace.”

“You’re right,” Cassie agreed. “Sub-Zero isn’t the type. But – “

“But he’s not the only member of the Lin Kuei, I know,” Fujin finished her sentence.

“I trust him, but Frost is another fucking story. And I know she’s not the only Lin Kuei who still resents the Shirai Ryu.”

“You’re correct, Cassie. I haven’t disregarded the idea of this being an attack launched by some of the younger, more volatile members. Still... This is violent, even for someone like Frost,” Fujin considered the option. “But for now, it’s one of the more likely possibilities.”

Raiden stood, silent as a stone. _I bet he feels fucking useless. Fujin did all his work for him._

“What is it that you propose, Fujin?” The other God asked after a long while.

“I can’t quite place my finger on it,” he began, his voice wary and pained. “I’ve been trying to see it for a few years now, but it’s all smoke and veils. But something is looming in the darkness, Raiden. Something terrible and powerful. Something ancient.” Cassie shivered, folding her arms in front of her. _I don’t like the sound of this. This sounds like one of my dad’s stories._ “War is coming, and this is just the start of the massacres. Gather the champions, all of them that you can find. Bring those you considered before and didn’t utilise.” _The champions. The tournament. No..._ “I will take Cassie to find Forest Fox and then we will make for the Shaolin Temple. Send Liu and Johnny to us.”

_Johnny. Dad._

“You believe it is that serious?” Raiden’s monotone contained no scepticism, but Cassie wondered if he doubted somewhere beneath it all.

“You can feel it, too, if you allow yourself. Stop looking for prophecies and you will feel the force of reality pushing against each of us. This time of peace could never last for long. We never set ourselves up for that.”

The God of Thunder nodded. “Understood. I will gather all that I can.”

“Thank you, Raiden,” Fujin said. There was a clap of thunder and a quick flash of lightning, and then Cassie and the God of Winds were alone on the edge of the cliff. “Cassie, don’t be scared.”

_I’m fucking horrified. Not just scared._ “I’m just not sure I’m prepared, that’s all.”

Fujin laughed, a genuine and heart-warming chuckle. “None of us were prepared the first time we faced this sort of threat. It will force you to be ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extended delay! Work was busy for a while there. Here's to having time and energy to write more regularly now, though, so I hope any readers out there enjoy...


	5. Erron Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lone cowboy makes a discovery that will change the course of fate.

Kazrath stood in the centre of a desert, a town of wooden shelters and manmade shade surrounded by flat sand as far as anyone could see. There were no trees, only bushes and shrubs that stood just above the ankles. The wooden shacks rose precariously high, and many of them were connected by shaky bridges hidden by cloth coverings. Some of the bridges hung so low that most who attempted to manoeuvre through the town’s narrow streets would be forced to crouch in order to avoid slamming their head against the pale wood. The streets were always flooded, too, full of every race found in Outworld and beyond vying for space on the dusty paths. The chatter became deafening in the tight corridors. This was a town full of energy and driven by necessity, its citizens rushing from place to place with no time for rest.

And it was hot. It was always hot. And so goddamn dry. The wind blew dust around in circles and the sand piled up in drifts in the few open spaces, and Erron watched it all with an unflinching eye. Sweat had smudged the makeup around his eyes, caking it between the low brim of his hat and the cloth stretched across his nose and mouth. His hair sat in strings, pulled apart by sweat, adhering to his neck. The guns strapped tightly to his back slid in the perspiration, but he kept a hand on the revolver on his hip. His leather pants were maybe too tight for such a warm day, but he had a reputation to uphold and wouldn’t let the heat tarnish it. He had business to do today. He had to look the part.

The open marketplace in the centre of Kazrath was perhaps more crowded than the rest of the town, but it was here that Erron would find the inn he needed. Somewhere behind all of the shouting merchants and hungry townspeople and angry travellers, he would see the faded yellow doors and a doorknob emblazoned with a dragon. He would find what he had been searching for throughout the past decade. He would find his future.

“What’ve you got?” he heard his own drawl beneath the din. The older woman before him bore a stern face and dark skin, and some of the nicest clothes that Black had seen in town.

 “What is it you want?” she asked. There was a coyness to her voice that he had not expected. It might not be so easy to pull one over on her, after all. “I got plenty.”

Her covered stand was certainly big. There were six rows of shelves, and drawers in which to hide the less savoury items. There were bones and blades hanging from the wood lining the top of the tent. Candles and incense burned in the heat. Behind her sat stacks of crates, all full of Elder Gods know what. She appeared proud of every item there, whatever they were.

“The guns are in the farthest cabinet,” she suggested.

“I got plenty of guns,” Erron dismissed. It was the truth, though he was always tempted by more. “Looking for something rarer.”

“Oh?” Her brows arched. She ran her hands over the red dress she wore, as though imitating a nervous tick. He saw through that, though. She was biding her time. “Got some strange things over in this one.” She teetered slowly towards a different cabinet, the only one whose wood still shone.

When she opened the top drawer, Erron saw a collection of gems, jewellery, keys, and books. For a second he thought that it would be in this drawer, but he knew better. No one could be dense enough to keep it in such an obvious place, particularly not someone so dedicated to playing feeble.

“What’s yer name, ma’am?” Black found himself drawling.

“Blanche,” she did not miss a beat. “But you aren’t here for names.”

The wind whipped at their hair. Erron smirked just a bit. She folded her hands in front of her, waiting. Black eyed the drawer of gems again. “Got any books?”

She clucked. Her steps towards a red-brown cabinet deliberate. She peeled back a thin covering to reveal a bookshelf lined hastily with texts. They had no order, and most were too old to be worth much of anything. It wouldn’t be here, either. _Still..._

“Anything on history there? Something about Outworld?”

“You’ve just given yourself away,” she chuckled. “Earthrealmer.”

“I gotta learn about this place,” he replied.

“Let me guess,” she muttered. “The Shao Kahn regime? The conquest and absorption of Edenia? Is the brutal masculinity of it all too hard to resist?” Her voice was sharper now. _She does not trust me. I can’t blame her._

He shrugged. “Nothing left fer me in Earthrealm.”

She ran her eyes up and down. She quickly turned to the shelves and plucked one of the newer-looking books, turning to hand it to Erron with new quickness. “Here you go.”

_The King of Kahns._ “Shao Kahn isn’t all I need.” Still, he opened the book. As he thumbed through, he tried to find the words that he needed. “I’m looking for something older.” Blanche didn’t say anything. Her eyes were cold, their scrutiny unhidden. “I need to get rid of my demons.”

Her expression changed just slightly. “What sort of demons?”

“The sort that killed a king, and brought a nation to ruin.”

The sharpness in her eyes disappeared, and there was a fire in its place. “Aye.” She moved towards a tiny, nondescript chest tucked between stacks of crates. “I knew you’d be here sooner or later, cowboy,” she whispered as she crouched to open the chest. She muttered something he could not make out as she lifted the lid and produced a thick purple tome. Its pages were crisp, protected by what he assumed to be magic. _This is it._

“This will have all you need,” she began. She clutched it tightly in her hands, her eyes darting quickly around her tent. “It will lead you to him, and it will help you kill him. Never let it fall into the wrong hands. We’re depending on you.”

Erron nodded, the weight of it pushing down even harder on him. When he took the purple book from her, he felt the energy coursing through him. _It’s alive. Not the way Blanche and I are alive, but it’s living._ There was no title and no description on the cover. Just pure purple leather.

“Erron Black,” she began, her voice full of pleading. “You have supporters everywhere. We would follow you to the end. You don’t have to do this alone.” He said nothing, knowing that she was wrong, at least on the last part. “But if you insist, seek help. The Shadow Priests in the Kazrath Temple, they will – “

“Thank you, Blanche,” he cut her off. “For everything. But I must go. It is too bright here, and the wrong creature will see me. Who knows what lurks in the shadows here?”

She nodded. “It was an honour to serve you today, sir.”

He bid her goodbye, then slipped the purple book into his satchel. With one last tip of his hat, he made his slow way out of her tent and towards his inn. He had a great deal of reading to do tonight, and then he thought he would pay those Shadow Priests a visit. The sorcerer would not be allowed to live for much longer. Erron Black would see to it.

_These plans are coming together, after all. I can feel things falling into place. This is just the beginning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's our first glimpse of Outworld, but it's only one of many to come. We'll be spending a lot of time in this strange realm, with and without Erron.
> 
> In any event, let me know what you think in the comments, etc. Major shoutout to anyone who's reading. I love you all.


	6. Kurtis Stryker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stryker and Detective Takahashi pay a visit to the Deacon City maximum security prison, hoping Kano will shake things up in their pair of disturbing cases.

Detective Takahashi’s presence still unnerved Stryker. Walking with him into Deacon City’s high-security prison did not improve matters. The prison was a feat of technology, all sleek, sliding doors and intricately wired locks. Kurtis didn’t really understand shit about it, but he appreciated it – Kano was pretty securely tucked away in there, which kept more people safe than he cared to think about. _The number of lives Kano alone has claimed can’t be topped – add that to the people dead on his behalf but not by his hands, and you could fill a city of unclear size._ It gave Stryker the chills just to think about it. Kano could never walk the streets again. He had to see to it.

“Detective Kenshi Takahashi and Acting Police Commissioner Kurtis Stryker, here to visit the inmate Kano,” Kenshi flashed his credentials as Stryker did the same. The attendant arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any questions. She stood, handed them some paperwork, and disappeared into a back office. _The red tape for even the commissioner and a lead detective among the Special Forces to see someone as ruthless as Kano..._

They filled out their paperwork in silence. When she returned, the attendant brought a couple of security guards with her. After scanning their paperwork and identification, they passed through the doors into the inner prison. They were passing through the outermost cells, home of some of Deacon City’s – and the nation’s – least threatening inmates, run-of-the-mill murderers and predators. _Jesus, I’m desensitised._ Kurtis did not look forward to reaching the maximum security floor, which he had not stepped into in years. Another chill went down his spine as he remembered the last time. He was ready to be back on the streets.

The halls to the maximum security level, in the deepest basement you could find in Deacon City and likely the country, were winding, poorly-lit, and confusing. It was an intentional piece of the design: if anyone escapes their cell in the lower levels, they would then need to navigate up towards the building’s only exit in order to make a break for freedom. And by that time, the small army of guards would have found them. It was a critical piece of information that brought peace to most of the city, as the Deacon City prison housed the worst of the worst, including plenty that Kurtis would have killed on sight had he been on the team tracking them down. _But then, I didn’t kill Kano when I had the chance, did I?_

Of course he hadn’t. He was all talk – no game. He knew it about himself, and he was sure everybody else did, too. The force saw through him. He could feel it in the way they treated him, in their silence when he made demands and promised results. He felt his body roll in a silent sigh. Somehow his mind always came back to his failure as an officer, a pervasive thought pattern he didn’t need when he was only moments away from the murderer of his father, his brother, and his late boyfriend. His face hardened at the thought, and he started to shake it from his mind when the guards halted before them.

“Kano will be through these doors. He is, of course, one of our most volatile, violent inmates. You will not be able to cross behind the glass, but you will be able to hear one another without problem. We will be monitoring on the other side of this door, and will intervene if things begin to look unsafe for any of you,” the female guard at the head explained in a monotone. “If you need assistance, press the red button to call for us and we will enter immediately.”

Stryker and Detective Takahashi nodded in unison, but said nothing. The guard studied them for a few moments before inputting a code on the door’s lockpad. It slid open smoothly, soundlessly, and the two visitors stared through the doorframe to see Kano seated on a long bench opposite them, tucked behind what they had to assume was sturdy plexiglass. He wore a smile on his broad, grizzled face, and a metallic eyepatch covered the eye socket that had – at least at one point – contained a piece of cybernetic weaponry. Kurtis had to wonder if it had been removed, or if the patch somehow blocked its use. He filed the question with a list of things he’d like to learn more about later.

“Good to see ya, mate,” Kano stood as he greeted them, his heavy Australian accent unable to hide the playful taunt in every word. _He’s up to something. He has to be. He’s fucking toying with us already._ “It’s been – what? Three years? Can’t believe it. How’s daddy doing? Oh... Right. Whoops.” Kano slid his finger across his throat to imitate a knife’s slicing at it, then laughed a full, hearty sound. It was horrifying.

“Kano, we’re here on business, not so you can remind my partner of the crimes we all know you’ve committed,” Kenshi interjected.

“I might’ve known this wasn’t just a quickie,” Kano sighed. “Though it’s been a good few years since my last threesome. A man can hope.”

_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._ “People are dying, Kano.”

“People? Dying?” Kano nearly shouted. “And in Deacon City, no less?! My, has the world just gone mad!”

Stryker turned away for a moment, just long enough to regroup. He felt the anger rising up, and with it, a sense of dread – the overwhelming knowledge that they were helpless to stop the attacks without Kano’s help. They needed his cooperation – or whatever deal he wanted to broker, which was exactly what he was afraid of. Any deal he angled for was sure to end with blood on the hands of anyone involved.

“Shut up, man,” Kurtis spoke up. “We have a job to do. We know your people are behind these murders.”

“And how do you figure you know that?” Kano cocked his head. “If ya haven’t noticed, I’m not really up to much these days.”

There was a long pause. Kenshi’s face was focused and shrewd, and Stryker wondered what it was he knew. “Kano, there aren’t many people – even in this city – capable of what these killers are doing.”

“They’re slicing faces off,” Kurtis added lamely, and he realised he didn’t have much to say at all. It would be Kenshi’s show.

“I’m still not seeing how I play a part in this, unless you’re suggesting I slip out at night, cut a few people up, and slip back in,” Kano shrugged and looked away from them. The man was short, but broad and built. Even after all this time in prison, his muscles were just visible beneath his jumpsuit. _I guess it takes a lot of muscle to murder so many people with nothing but your hands, though._

“You know that’s not what I mean. You have followers, even now.” Detective Takahashi retained his emotionless monotone.

“And you think I’m hearing from them, down in this cell?” Kano threw his hands up. “Aren’t you supposed to be smarter than this, Detective?” The Aussie’s smirk deepened, as if he were telling a joke that only he understood.

“There are ways,” Takahashi quipped. “People can be paid off.”

Kano gasped in mock shock. “Not Deacon City’s finest!” He laughed again. “Mates, if I had anything to do with it -- well, I can’t say I’d admit it, could I? But I sure as hell wouldn’t be in here if I had any contacts out there.”

“You would be biding your time,” Kenshi stated calmly. “Making a bigger play.”

Kano’s good eye searched the two of them, but he eventually raised and lowered his shoulders before shaking his head softly. “I can’t say I know anything. I unfortunately haven’t had a chance to plot any murders in my time here.”

“You expect us to believe that a series of vicious murders and kidnappings in Deacon City has no relation to the Black Dragon?” Kurtis was heated. Kano’s denials were bullshit, he knew – but he had no proof.

“Kidnappings, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention those. Do tell.”

There was an extended silence before Kenshi spoke, a voice so weary Stryker was sure he’d said something to make the man angry. _Maybe I shouldn’t have connected the two crime sprees so quickly..._ “At least eight children have gone missing in three months. There is no solid indication it is in any way connected to the recent killings, but the Commissioner is right to question – “

“Commissioner?” Kano was nearly gleeful. “Well, why didn’t you say so!” He bowed, a gesture full of mockery and spite. Kurtis did not speak.

“Kano, we’re trying to handle something serious here – “

“Oh, fuck off and let a couple of old friends catch up, Assassin’s Creed,” Kano rolled his eye. If Kenshi was taken aback, he didn’t show it. “How’d you swing that, Kurty?”

“Your people killed my superior,” Stryker stepped toward the glass.

“Well, congrats, mate. At least my people are doing good by someone, then,” he chuckled to himself. _How fucking dare he._

“Let’s get things back on track,” Takahashi intervened. “You say you’re not a part of this. Fine. I expect you know people in Deacon City willing and eager to murder a few to meet their ends. Give us some leads to follow.”

“Christ, man,” Kano exclaimed. “I’ve told ya – I know nothing about this fuckery. Kidnapping some kids? Does that even sound like the Black Dragon to ye?”

Kenshi sighed. “I never meant that to – “

“If any of my people are out there pulling this shit and you find out about it, feel free to write. I’ll deal with ‘em myself.”

The detective remained unmoving, but Stryker’s heart was racing. His anger was starting to warm him all over, he could sense it. He knew Kano was intentionally frustrating him, hoping for a rise, but he was falling into the trap all the same. He couldn’t bring himself to come down from the rage.

“Thank you for your time, Kano. We’ll be on our way,” Takahashi spoke swiftly, as if he knew exactly where Stryker’s mind was racing.

“That’s it? Done already? Women always were better, anyway.” He took a few steps back from the pair interrogating him.

“I’m going to find out what it is you want, Kano,” Kurtis spoke just above a whisper. “And I won’t let you get it. And if you so much as step a foot beyond your cell – I’ll kill you myself.”

“Ooh, Daddy’s Little Boy having a bad day? I’m sure we could have a good go, pal. You like a little wrestling with your men, right? Manhandling? That sort of thing?”

“Stryker, don’t – “

“You won’t win this game you’re playing,” he took another step towards Kano.

“Game? Who said anything about a game?”

“Kurtis! Let’s leave. Now.” Kenshi’s voice was rushed and angry. He was ready to go.

“The Black Dragon is going to burn for this.”

“My, the new Commissioner sure is hot-headed. Sounds like exactly what the DCPD needs to get something done for once. Maybe killing Billy Stryker wasn’t such a bad thing, after all, eh? Took your career places.”

“Never mention my father again, you piece of shit. I swear to god, I will rip that metal out of your eye and shove it down your fucking throat if I ever hear his name leave your mouth again. This whole thing has your name written all over it,” Stryker felt himself shouting. “And we’re going to find you out, and whoever’s been helping you.” _It’s fucking Kira. I know it._

“Calm yourself, Pretty Boy,” the man opposite them sneered. “I may not be up to anything myself, but it sounds like someone is – and they’re a few steps ahead of you. They’ll shake things up in this city. And once they’re done, they may just need someone to do their dirty work for them.” He spread his arms and smiled, having achieved his goal. Kurtis Stryker slammed his fists against the glass before turning and walking out of the holding chamber.

He was racing through the labyrinthine prison, completely comfortable with the fact that he was sure to find himself lost any minute now. There was a fire pulsing through him, a rage he needed to quench before he did something unthinkable. _Is that freak Reiko still down here? I’ll take him out myself._

_No. No, no, Kurtis, calm down. You’re not finding Reiko, and you’re not going to kill anyone. You can fight this._

He paused. His heart was still racing, but he forced the anger to trickle out of his mind. He screwed his eyes shut, counting to higher and higher numbers until the anger was so quiet that he no longer noticed it. One fist was clenched around the handle of his baton, the other gripping the railing of the short staircase on which he stood. His whole body shook as he persuaded it to calm down, and he could still hear Kano’s voice swirling in his head, taunting him.

_Except – wait – is that Kano’s voice?_ And then he was no longer sure that it was in his head. It was coming from down the hall. Louder than a whisper, but indecipherable. It was the sound of someone who didn’t care if they were heard.

He began chasing after it. He couldn’t make out the words or even the speaker’s gender, but he was sure they didn’t belong – something in the tone was sinister, full of hate and violence. He had to find them. _This is it – whoever’s been working with Kano. They’re here. Now. I can stop them._

As he rounded the next corner, though, he felt himself stumble. His mind went blank with confusion as he tried to regain composure, but he couldn’t keep himself up. He was on the ground in moments.

_The ground. It’s moving._ Everything shook around him. The entire building was groaning with the weight of all of its parts trembling. The already-dark halls grew darker as lights began to flicker out. _Kano. The inmates._

He tried to drag himself up, but no luck – everything was shaking, his body could not remain upright. He brought himself into a ball and tucked his head, and he waited for it to stop.

When it did, he heard nothing. It was as if the entire building held its breath. Silence lay heavy over the dark hallways, caveways now void of electricity and safety. And then the alarms began to sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I'm sorry. I'm trying to be back for good this time. I keep working on this and failing to post. If you're reading this -- I care, and I'm making it my goal to update far more frequently going forward!


	7. Erron Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erron finds himself a little support.

The Kazrath Temple was a dark, quiet place. The single window in the massive sanctuary was a dark-tinted stained glass piece that filtered the bright sun outside through blood reds, blacks, and murky purples. The rest of the lighting came from the abundance of tapered candles and the single fire blazing in the centre of the hall. The place reeked of poverty and rotting illness – the sick congregated here for days on end, and when they finally died the Shadow Priests let the bodies linger. There was not enough incense and wood in the world to cover the smell of dead flesh baked in the sun and left to decompose for far too long.

The visitors to the temple were largely silent. Occasional sobs filled the stifling air, and once per day the priests paraded out for a ceremony full of chanting, smoke, and the overwhelming sense that human blood was being spilled. Erron had a hand on one of his revolvers from the moment he walked through the massive stone doors.

The priest before him now was clothed in the darkest shade of purple imaginable. His face remained cloaked in the shadows of his hood, his hands wrapped in the folds of his sleeves and his robes dragged along the cold floor. Erron thought that he looked like a fucking pile of fabric discarded by a Baptist choir in Earthrealm.

His voice commanded the massive sanctuary, though. Gravelly and cold, it carried effortlessly into the highest rafters when he spoke. “Why do you come before us today, Erron Black of Earthrealm?”

Erron had to work to refrain from rolling his eyes. “I’m not impressed that you know my name.” He tolerated dramatics. In fact, he indulged a bit himself – eye makeup, an over-the-top cowboy look, and constant one-liners. Black was a bit of a performer and he admitted that. But he did not appreciate anyone showing off their mystic knowledge bullshit.

The priest did not react. The hall remained silent, and Erron realised he was not going to get any easy information today. “You know who I am and how I came to be here, but you can’t guess what brought me?”

“We are not in the business of doing Earthrealmers any favours. You can speak your intentions, or you can leave.”

Erron chuckled. “Of course,” he spoke slowly, gazing at the room around them. People were in earshot. They looked sick enough, but he couldn’t be sure. “Can we speak somewhere more private?”

The pause was agonisingly long, but the priest led him through a wooden door at the back of the hall. They moved through a narrow corridor lit with bright torches. After several twists and turns, they passed under a stone archway into a vast room outfitted with an organ and benches and an altar at the far end. A host of other priests littered them, all knelt with their heads buried into their hands. Large clear windows stretched from floor to ceiling throughout the room, allowing light to stream through the room unfiltered. It was the most brightly lit room Black had ever seen in an Outworld temple.

The Priest spoke. “This room usually remains reserved for private meetings of the priests and for congregational events. I suspect what you ask of us will require approval of all here.”

The silent Priests slowly began to move, standing as they spun to face the outsider standing in their choral chamber. They were all identical, faceless and draped in dark robes. Somehow this rattled Black even more in the bright sunlight.

“So tell us,” spoke the Priest who had led him here. “What do you seek from the Shadow Priests of Kazrath?”

The cowboy stared around the room, a Texas-sized sense of déjà vu racing up his spine. He mulled his words over carefully before reaching for the satchel at his hip. With confidence he pulled the purple tome out of it, and held it forward for the room to see.

“I was given this book yesterday,” Erron began. “I know what it is, and what it has the power to do. I think you all do, too.”

“That book should not have fallen – “ began a Priest somewhere near the organ. It wasn’t easy to determine who spoke when no mouths were visible.

“I will kill you all if anyone in this room attempts to take it from me. I’ve got a bullet for everyone of you,” Black warned. He supposed he meant it.

“Go on,” came the voice of the first Shadow Priest.

“Ermac will help us defeat the Empress. I know that none of you want to see Mileena remain on her father’s throne. She will bring Outworld to ruin. We need help.”

“What does an Earthrealmer care about the fate of Outworld?”

Black’s voice dropped to a growl. “Outworld is my home. I have lived here for more than two decades. I will not see it fall victim to a half-Tarkatan clone. We did not drive those beasts out to watch their blood take over.”

“The Shadow Priests care nothing for politics.”

“Sure, fine. But the Temple in Morgen has openly declared its opposition to the Empress’s rule. She does not take that lightly – she will see all Shadow Temples destroyed before she allows them to convince anyone that she shouldn’t have the throne.”

“All Shadow Temples operate independently of one another. Even the Empress Mileena, as faithless as she may be, will know that.”

“If you think Mileena will act at all rationally...”

“Do you purport to know anything of the Empress Mileena?” interjected a Shadow Priest. “Have you met her? Were you there for the last tournament? Have you travelled to her home realm of Edenia?”

Black was taken aback. This priest’s defence of Mileena lacked even the thinnest veil. “I have not met the woman. I don’t think I need to. We know she is half-Tarkatan. She calls herself the Empress – not the Queen. She does not seek the throne of Outworld alone. She will take us to war, a war we cannot afford.”

“Erron Black is right.” The woman’s voice was near him. “Mileena will launch war on the other realms, most likely Earthrealm. With Sonya Blade, Johnny Cage, and Liu Kang displaying great authority in Earthrealm, it has grown stronger than ever before. We cannot fight them.” Erron was mostly left surprised that the Shadow Temples allowed female priests.

“That is not for us to decide,” said another Priest. “The leaders can choose what action the realm takes. We are here to guide the people towards the darkness and the righteous.”

“You are right,” she spoke again. “But Ermac is our kind. Before he became the vessel he is now, he was a Priest like all of us in this room. He now reaps souls with ease – he will help us in our efforts to bring peace to the people of Outworld.”

There was silence as the Priests and Erron thought this over. Black was unsure of Ermac’s predilection to helping them. All reading indicated that the creature was vicious and destructive. Then again, he had not enjoyed freedom in centuries. Erron only needed one thing...

“How might we help you in your efforts?”

Black tried to hide his relief. He had not come in vain. “The book is cursed. I cannot read what must be done for bringing him out of the depths of his captivity. The page is here, but the steps are obscured.”

The Priest nearest him stepped towards him and grabbed the book. He thumbed through the pages. “Blood magic obscures the requirements for Ermac’s revival. It will not be pretty.”

Erron chuckled. “Fine. I never said it would be. Y’all know who I am, and what I am. What makes you think I care for pretty?”

The Priest nodded, and left the room. The tension that followed was unfiltered and suffocating. Not a single Priest remaining made any noise or signs of movement – the room was nearly silent, excepting the ambient sounds trickling through the massive windows. Outside the chapel, the business of Kazrath went on as usual. The energy poured from the central market, humans and Outworldians mingling in what Erron would consider a beautiful display if he were the kind to appreciate beauty. Instead, he felt glad to be in the Temple, away from the noise and chaos of the desert town. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the organ chamber had been fitted with the Earthrealm’s invention of central air conditioning. Unfortunately, Outworlders’ pride barred them from making use of anything created by an Earthrealmer. Most of Outworld remained terribly hot year-round.

“Erron Black, come with me.” The Priest had returned with the book and another Priest, this one in blood-red robes. The cowboy knew where this would go.

When he nodded and followed the two from the room, he noted a few other Priests following him. The rest began returning to the tasks he had interrupted. As the small group made its way down the increasingly dark hall, he heard the sound of the organ behind him, booming and mournful. He shivered. He wasn’t one for superstitions, but the place gave him the creeps.

The blood-red Priest led them down stairwells that Black guessed sat at the centre of the Temple. The stairs spiralled on themselves over and over, winding far beneath the surface of Kazrath and into the shockingly cold depths of the desert. Erron watched his breath cloud before him just before the left the stairwell and entered the next chamber.

It was another massive, sprawling room. If Erron had to guess, it stood in the shape of a heart, and doors lined the walls. Water ran around the shape of the room in a small stream, but it had long ago become murky and disturbing. An altar sat in the centre of the room, its dark wood deeply stained with what Black had to assume was blood and a drain hole in the floor directly behind its perfectly sloped surface. He had a feeling the dramatic stakes were about to rise.

The red Priest took hold of the purple tome and walked towards the altar. Erron’s initial Priest produced a large silver goblet and a very recently sharpened dagger. The red-robed figure waved him over, and Black stood before the altar as he proceeded with whatever ritual Ermac would require.

The candle towers surround the room lit all at once, their flames adding a bit of much-needed light to the heart room. There was a long pause as the Priest opened his book to the demon vessel’s page, a silence full of dread and confusion. Erron thought only he felt that last bit.

“Allow me.” The voice was that of the female Priest who had defended Black’s plan in the organ chamber. She stood at the outer ring of the Priests who had followed the group into the basement, but she had begun moving towards the altar as she spoke.

“You are not confirmed yet,” the red Priest countered.

“That is not required, and you know it. I can do this. I should do this,” she responded swiftly, with perhaps the most emotion to be heard in a Shadow Priest’s voice.

“She is correct,” came the sound of gravel. “Her blood will prove stronger. She can break this curse.”

The red Priest did not argue, and Erron felt that his pebble-voiced friend must have a high ranking within the Kazrath Shadow Temple. The red one took a few steps back from the altar as the woman took his place. Something about this exchange unsettled Erron, leaving him feeling threatened and cornered. He shook the thoughts from his mind.

She began speaking a language he recognised as Edenian, but he could not translate any of it. She spoke swiftly and loudly – she had prepared for this ritual. Without skipping a beat, she beckoned for Erron to join her at the altar. As he did, the first Priest followed, placing the goblet next to the purple book on the altar.

Her voice stopped. She held a hand above the cup, and – without a thought – the Priest sliced a gash into her palm. Blood poured into the container beneath her as the candles’ flames flashed into a deep red and the darkness all but returned to the room. She reached her other hand out to take Erron’s. Trying to pretend he hadn’t seen this coming, he placed his hand palm-up in hers. When she guided it above the cup, he had no time to think before the dagger was against his skin. The blood poured swiftly, and this time half of the candles flickered into a bright purple. A few flames transformed into a bright green colour.

The Priest cupped her hand over Erron’s, covering the lid of the silver goblet. Her chanting was quiet this time, and it passed quickly. Then she was tossing his hand back to his side, and lifting the goblet. The Priests bowed their heads as she spoke a single line of Edenien.

When she dumped the contents of the goblet onto the page before her, Erron Black was unsurprised to find that it did not stain the page. The blood sank into the surface, and in its place a deep red ink burst forth onto the aged paper. The candles in the room flickered back to their normal shade, and a distinct warmth poured back in. Black wasn’t sure he had noticed the deepening chill, but he certainly noticed the change now.

“These pages now give you instructions on finding Ermac, and restoring him to our realm,” she said calmly. Another Priest was carefully bandaging her palm.

All in all, the strange ritual had been far less dramatic than he had anticipated. He mostly thought it had remained downright tame. “Thank you all. I know you are not meant to involve yourselves in the politics of the realms, but this was the right choice. This will help protect our home.”

“I hope you’re right,” the blood-red robe said slowly. “We are counting on you, Erron Black. You have our backing.”

The cowboy could not bring himself to respond appropriately, so he simply did not speak.

“Come, Erron Black. I will show you out.” It was the woman. He nodded, retrieving the purple book and placing it securely into his satchel. He bid his swift goodbyes to the remaining Priests, and followed his bleeding friend up the stairs and out of the chamber.

When they reached the doors out into Kazrath, she stopped him and drew him into a quiet alcove around the corner.

“When do you leave?” Her voice rang with urgency and a bit of fear.

“I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Now that I know where – “

“I will go with you, Erron. This journey is too dangerous to make alone, and the demon you mean to resurrect means something to me. We must not allow things to proceed as they are now. Mileena cannot remain on the throne.”

“I work alone, sweetheart.”

“Spare me. I’m coming, whether or not you like it. I saw where he rests. I know what to do. I will only help you, and you know this.”

He considered this for a moment. She had a point – she would know rituals and spells. Those could prove useful to his cause.

“I call the shots,” he drawled. “And Ermac is mine.”

“Deal,” she said quickly.

“Fine. Meet me at sunrise at the inn and we’ll ride out.” He turned to leave. “And what’s your name?”

“Call me Carla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Carla a bit too pedestrian? Dunno. I dig that. Why's the name got such an Earthrealm ring?


End file.
